


Baby It's Cold Outside!

by glittercracker



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 06:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittercracker/pseuds/glittercracker
Summary: A little Nezushi snow-fluff inspired by this lovely fan art by the also-lovely @xwhenyouwakeupx.tumblr ...http://xwhenyouwakeupx.tumblr.com/post/154132309945/its-cold-outsidenezumi-thought-he-could-get-away





	Baby It's Cold Outside!

**Author's Note:**

> My first AO3 post, so be gentle!

Nezumi hadn’t been aware that it was snowing until Shion came in from work, the sleeves and shoulders of his purple coat dusted with white, and his face lit with joy. “Nezumi!” he cried. “Look! Snow!”  
  
Nezumi looked up from the script he’d been studying on the couch, pulling the blanket more tightly around his shoulders against the blast of cold that Shion brought in with him. “Your deductive reasoning is truly a source of wonder,” he said dryly.  
  
But Nezumi’s sarcasm seemed to roll right off of Shion. Or, more accurately, it was as if the brightness burning in him simply seared Nezumi’s brittle acerbity to ash on contact. This annoyed the black-haired boy even further. So when Shion said, “You have to come out and see it!” Nezumi gave him a dark look and said, “In fact, I don’t.”  
  
“Nezumi! Don’t be like that!”  
  
“Like what?” he asked, pretending to read his script.  
  
“Taciturn.”  
  
Nezumi raised an eyebrow and looked back up at Shion, still bundled for the cold outside – including an absurd pair of earmuffs – although it was very warm in their room. “Taciturn? Your vocabulary is improving, Your Majesty.”  
  
“Just come with me! Please?”  
  
Nezumi continued to glare at him.  
  
“Will you come if I buy you coffee?”  
  
“And where, dare I ask, did you get money for coffee?”  
  
“I found this on the way home.” Shion rummaged in his coat pocket, and then held out a silver piece on the palm of his hand.  
  
“You _found_ a silver piece on the way home?” Nezumi asked incredulously.  
  
“It was on the street. Someone must have dropped it. Of course I would have returned it, but there was no one else around, so I had no way of knowing who dropped it – ”  
  
Nezumi groaned, and shoved a hand through his spikey bangs. “Only you…”  
  
“Only me, what?” Shion asked, blinking, uncomprehending.  
  
“Only you would have the audacious luck to find a silver piece on the street, and the airheaded integrity to want to return it!”  
  
Shion shrugged. “Well, we’ve got it now. And I don’t want to spend it on something boring – not all of it, anyway – so will you? Come out and get coffee with me? I can’t remember the last time we drank something other than hot water.”  
  
Nezumi glared at him for another moment, and then, sighing, he relinquished the blanket. He grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair, and pulled it on over his t-shirt. Then he moved to the door, and shoved on his boots. He was about to open the door when he sensed Shion’s eyes on him – and also that the other boy was about to comment on something. It was a kind of sixth sense for Shion’s lectures that he’d developed over the time they’d spent together. He still wasn’t sure whether it was a gift or a curse.  
  
“What now, Your Majesty?” he asked, turning back to Shion, who was, indeed, standing where Nezumi had left him, studying him as he might a specimen under a microscope.  
  
“Nezumi, you’ll freeze if you go out like that. You need to put on more clothes.”  
  
“And I would _have_ more clothes to put on if you hadn’t decided to wash my superfiber cloth. It’s still wet.” He nodded to the drooping piece of fabric, where it was hanging off a chair arm by the woodstove, the occasional water droplet falling from the edges.  
  
“Well, yes,” Shion agreed. “But technically, the attributes of the superfiber will still allow it to retain – ”  
  
“Oh, lord, please shut up! I am not wearing that wet thing no matter what its attributes.”  
  
“Then take mine,” Shion said, beginning to unwind the dark plaid scarf that Rikiga had given him, much to Nezumi’s disapproval.  
  
“And I am NOT going outside wearing that!”  
  
“But – ”  
  
“One more argument, and you’re on your own!”  
  
Shion sighed. “Okay.” Re-winding his scarf, he followed Nezumi out the door, up the stairs.  
  
The dusting of snow on Shion’s coat when he came home had suggested flurries. It was falling hard now, though, and everything was covered in a layer of white. Shion laughed and twirled as the snow danced around him, but Nezumi just stood, taking in the suddenly unfamiliar landscape.  
  
There was certainly nothing beautiful about the West Block. How could there be, when it was made up of the dregs of the monstrous No. 6 – the refuse, the waste, whatever nobody wanted? But a few times a year, enough snow fell on the junk heap he called home that, for a few hours at least, everything looked clean. Pure. Even, before the first people ventured out and turned the white snow to brown slush, beautiful.  
  
Nezumi knew that Shion had encountered very little that was pretty, or even remotely pleasant, since he had brought him to the West Block. It couldn’t be helped: it had been that or the Correctional Facility, and there was no contest when those were the choices. Still, the white-haired boy had an uncanny capacity to unearth tiny bits of beauty amidst the mud and grime and squalor of his new home, like a miner finding fine seams of gold in stolid black rock.  
  
Sometimes he would come back from his job at Inukashi’s hotel, violet eyes glowing and talking a mile a minute about a new friendly dog who’d joined the pack, or a litter of newborn puppies: how soft they were, how clean and perfect. Or he would come with an offering for Nezumi, always something small, but equally exquisite: a crimson leaf, not yet curled or muddied by weather; a feather, white and perfect and delicate as Shion’s own eyelashes. He would proffer these gifts with an openhearted smile that irritated Nezumi, but also made something deeply buried in him kindle to life.  
  
“What use are these things?” he’d ask, frowning, to cover it, because Shion was just a little too good at seeing into him.  
  
“They’re no use,” Shion would answer, “that’s the point.”  
  
For which Nezumi would call him an idiot, or some variation thereof.  
  
Of course, he kept all of these gifts anyway, hidden carefully in a small box behind a few moldering books deep in the stacks, that neither of them ever read. Not that he would ever tell Shion that. Or that it was for similarly inexplicable reasons that Nezumi had allowed Shion to drag him out of the warm bunker, into the first snowfall of the season, without the protection of his superfiber.  
  
Before he could let that get to him – or the joy on Shion’s face, pink with cold and tilted up to the falling snow – he said, “So where is the coffee you promised?”  
  
Shion looked at him, eyes sparkling, his eyelashes full of snowflakes that made them look even longer and his eyes more ethereal than ever. In fact, he looked like he could have been made of snow, constructed piece by piece from the glittering brightness all around them. Nezumi looked away quickly, before Shion could read any of that on his face.  
  
“Why?” Shion asked. “Are you cold?”  
  
“No!” Nezumi snapped. “But you said coffee, and now I want coffee!”  
  
“Come on, then,” Shion said, taking him by the hand – which Nezumi tolerated, barely, and only because Shion’s gloved one was so warm – and pulling him across the decrepit playground outside their bunker, toward the market.  
  
The market was quiet tonight, probably because of the snow. Still, light spilled from the majority of the shop doors, and even a few of the portable stands. There were plenty of places selling coffee, or something vaguely approximating it, but Shion clearly had a specific one in mind, since he dragged Nezumi past all of them. Nezumi hoped that it wasn’t too far away, and that it maybe had somewhere to sit inside, though that would cost them extra. Despite what he’d said, the cold was seeping into him, and he’d begun to wish he’d listened to Shion about wearing more clothes. Dammit. A few more minutes and he would begin to shiver, and then Shion would be insufferable.  
  
As if he’d read the other boy’s mind, Shion stopped his rush through the market, and peered at Nezumi, his eyes dark as damsons in the shadows, and full of worry. “You’re cold, aren’t you,” he distinctly did not ask.  
  
“I’m fine,” Nezumi grumbled. “But how far away is this place?”  
  
Shion smiled. “It’s right there.” He pointed across the street, to a tiny shop with a bright window full of bread, and a few pastries. Shion always seemed to gravitate toward this place, even though they could never afford anything better than day-old bread. No doubt it was because it reminded him of his mother. Nezumi didn’t like it for exactly that reason: he didn’t want Shion to think about a life he could never go back to. Even thinking of it could be dangerous.  
  
“Shion, I don’t know – ” he began, but Shion was already crossing the street, reaching for the door handle. A tinkle of bells sounded as the door opened, and at that, Nezumi began to shiver. He gave up, following Shion into the bakery.  
  
The woman who ran it – grey-haired, bent with age, always kindly – was already beaming at Shion. “Out for a loaf of bread, dear? You should probably make it two – I’ve heard that this is going to turn into a full-on blizzard.” She nodded to the window, swirling with snow.  
  
“Yes, we’ll take two day-old loaves. Also one large coffee with milk, and…” He looked inquiringly at Nezumi, who was busy trying not to look cold, although he still hadn’t stopped shivering.  
  
“Espresso. Double,” Nezumi said curtly, between teeth that were trying to chatter.  
  
“Celebrating something?” the shopkeeper asked as she wrapped two loaves of bread, and then began on the drinks.  
  
The two boys looked at each other, until Nezumi rolled his eyes and pretended to look away, at the display case by the window. Shion shrugged. “Not really. But I got a bit of money, and the snow is so pretty, and Nezumi is cold, so – ”  
  
“I am not cold!” Nezumi snapped.  
  
“So, maybe if you have something just out of the oven,” Shion continued, ignoring him, “something hot, we’ll take two of those, too.”  
  
The woman smiled, her wrinkled face crinkling like a walnut shell. “As a matter of fact, I do.” She slid the coffees across the counter, and then disappeared into the kitchen in the back.  
  
“Are you insane?” Nezumi hissed, taking his cup nonetheless. “You’re going to spend every bit of that silver piece here, aren’t you?”  
  
Shion just smiled, and sipped his own coffee. A few moments later, the baker returned with two small, grease-stained paper bags. She pushed them toward Shion, who handed one to Nezumi and opened the other himself. All at once, his smile died, turning to a look of wonder.  
  
“Cravats? I haven’t seen these since I was little, and my mom used to make them! I always loved them…” There was a sudden, faraway, melancholy look in Shion’s eyes. It was rare, but when it happened, it always made Nezumi’s throat catch a little.  
  
After a moment, he shook his head. “How much do I owe you for all of this?”  
  
The woman smiled at him. “The bread is two days old by now. Just take it. As for the pastries, I hardly think I’ll be getting many customers tonight, and cravats don’t keep. It was a whim to make them at all. Consider them a gift.”  
  
Shion blinked wide eyes at her, like a child who’d been given his dearest wish. “Well we’re paying for the coffee at least!”  
  
“Yes, you are,” the woman grinned. She tallied the bill, and then Shion paid her with the silver piece. It generated far more change than Nezumi had expected, and he was anxious about what harebrained thing Shion would decide to do with it.  
  
Apparently reading the other boy’s expression, though, Shion handed the change to him. “The rest is yours,” he said.  
  
Nezumi looked down at the metal bits in his hand, clearly shocked. “But Shion, you’re the one who found it.”  
  
“And we share everything,” Shion said.  
  
“But this is more than half!”  
  
“Take it, Nezumi, or I’ll give it to the first beggar we run into.”  
  
That was all the warning Nezumi needed to pocket the money. Then he downed the espresso in one sip, and tossed the cup into the wastebasket by the door. Shion thanked the baker, took up the bread and pastry, and then stepped back out into the night.  
  
For a time, they chewed on the cravats in silence, leaving a trail of crumbs behind them. Shion was about to finish his, when he saw Nezumi carefully re-wrap the end of his own, and pocket it. Of course: he would share it with the mice. He always saved something for them. Shion did the same with the last piece of his, and then he sipped his coffee, grateful for the warm liquid filling him – he was already cold again, even colder after the warmth of the bakery.  
  
Nezumi, however, was miserable. The small amount of coffee he’d consumed hadn’t been close to enough to warm him up, and he was shivering again. Shion, keen-eyed, offered Nezumi his cup.  
  
“No way. Any more caffeine and I’ll be bouncing around the room all night.”  
  
“But you’re freezing!”  
  
“Yes, Shion, I am freezing!” he gritted out. “Because you insisted on dragging me out _in the middle of a fucking snowstorm!”_  
  
Shion laughed softly, with a tiny note of triumph that made Nezumi want to punch something. “I told you to wear more clothes,” Shion said mildly.  
  
“You were right, okay? You win.” Still smiling, Shion linked arms with Nezumi, pulling him close against him. “Wait – what are you…?”  
  
“Keeping you warm,” Shion answered nonchalantly, sipping his coffee.  
  
“But this is…I mean we’re…people might think…”  
  
Shion leveled him with calm violet eyes. “Since when do you care what people think? Besides, we share a room, Nezumi. We share a bed! We keep each other warm there, right? And I’ve never heard you complain about it.”  
  
Nezumi was speechless. Not only that, he could feel a rare blush rising from his neck to his cheeks. Never, since they’d begun to live together, had Shion commented on their sleeping arrangements – or the ways in which they might be interpreted by the world at large. To be honest, he hadn’t really believed that anything of the sort even entered Shion’s downy white head. Maybe there were some things he ought to re-think…  
  
“Well anyway, I’d say this pales in comparison to that,” Shion concluded, brushing a soft kiss on Nezumi’s cheek, and making his face flame. He grinned, and pulled the other boy closer still as they wended their way home through the quiet, snowy streets.  
  
Nezumi didn’t think he’d ever been so grateful to be cold. At least this way, there was a chance Shion might chalk his blush up to the freezing temperature.  
  
Then again, given the small smile still playing at Shion’s lips, he doubted it.


End file.
